


The Sixth

by themantlingdark



Series: Yggdrasil [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: I can't disable commenting, but if I could, I would. Please pretend that I have, and please don't repost or distribute my work.





	The Sixth

1 Souls

 

On the first turn it happens much as Midgard's myths claim, and Odin realizes Loki is not meant to be his blood brother.

On the second, Odin does not take Laufey's son from Jotunheim.

Thor's first word is “Loki.”

When he's older he tells his parents of his best friend – a blue-skinned boy of his own age. But no one else can see Thor's companion and he seems to talk to the empty air and laugh at its unheard answers.

Asgard thinks its prince is mad.

Odin knows better.

Thor's shoulders grow broad but it only makes his arms feel more empty, for he cannot hold the handsome man who haunts his steps.

His citizens have no sympathy for him.

He follows his friend out into the shimmering silence of the stars and the severed spirits finally find peace.

Odin tears down the realms.

On the third, the boys grow up together, but they keep their secrets too well.

Thor marries Sif.

Loki's heart breaks.

He bends all his will toward destruction, because if he can't have Thor's love then he'll take everything else.

The brothers battle for eons, churning through the skies and seas, tearing at each other until there is nothing left of them.

On the fourth, Thor gives his life to save Loki from Malekith.

Loki gives his life to destroy the elf. He saves the realms in the process, but that was never the point – his goal was to escape his grief and end the one who gave it to him.

Odin greets the brothers in Valhalla. And he knows he should be happy for them, but they were so young. And they had no children.

Still, the All-Father's eye can't miss how his sons' hearts are lighter in death than they ever were in life. Their eyes dance as they walk through golden halls laughing and talking. Their knees touch under the table as they sit drinking and feasting.

They remain side by side until the tree falls.

On the fifth, Odin puts the babies into a deep sleep until Midgard will be ready for boys like his. Then he strips them of their seidr, renders them mortal, and delivers them to two different mothers who had prayed to him. He only had a dozen women to choose from by the time Earth finally seemed suitable.

Thor is a meteorologist with uncanny accuracy. Loki is a calligrapher. They first meet each other at the age of twenty-four, viewing an exhibition of illuminated manuscripts. Odin sighs from Hlidskjalf while Frigga snorts beside him.

Fifty-seven years later, Odin's sons die in each other's arms in the bed they've shared since they met. Thor goes first, slipping away as he dreams. Loki follows three minutes later, blessed with having slept through the loss of his great love.

And Odin has outlived his children once more. It hits him even harder after finally having seen the lads happy in life.

Ragnarok comes early again.

On the sixth turn, Odin travels to Jotunheim before thoughts of war or sons have even entered its king's head.

He tells Laufey of all that he has seen. That Loki has killed him once already. That Odin lacks the strength to live without these boys - that their deaths try his patience past the point of failure and he takes down the tree in his despair. That their sons cannot be separated. That the Jotnar and Aesir are not so different, and an alliance is long overdue.

The kings sit and weigh their options but they are wary and uncertain. Odin has never seen this go entirely well. He has no answers.

There are centuries of unrest in Jotunheim as Laufey attempts to convert those who are still leaving their small babes to the ice to die. The Jotnar are difficult to convince, especially as the kings themselves used to believe in that practice.

The people argue that the small children will be weak. A burden.

Laufey asks how they know that to be true, as they've never had any, and points out that the realms are at peace and Jotunheim is prosperous. That the Jotnar make themselves look weak by claiming to be unable to support a few diminutive children.

When Farbauti gives birth to a tiny baby, the work the kings have been doing becomes much more real to them. Odin's warning had already helped to sway Laufey in word and deed, but Farbauti's joy melts the last of his heart's reservations.

The Aesir, Vanir, and even the Ljosalfar send reinforcements for the protection of Laufey and his family while Farbauti is recovering.

Farbauti's recovery is swift, as Loki was so small. But Odin has warned all of his allies that the safety of the realms depends on the life of this babe. He doesn't mention that his own heartbreak is what would ultimately endanger them – only Frigga, Farbauti, and Laufey know that secret, and they intend to keep it.

Upon seeing the light elves, the last of the traditionalists relent: they had never expected to cross paths with these beings again, and they are a joy to behold. They are also accounted wise, and the Jotnar know it would be foolish to oppose them.

When the boys are babies, their parents introduce them to each other. Neither Thor nor Loki will remember these first meetings, but their families will never forget the way the fussy babes were quieted upon the instant they set eyes on each other. Frigga and Farbauti swap their sons while they nurse, and the children drink the seidr of different realms.

Two years later Laufey and Farbauti have twin boys. They grow swiftly. They are measurably – and often visibly - larger with each passing day.

Within a year, Helblindi and Byleistr are big enough to be taken on their first hunt. Frigga volunteers to watch Loki so that Farbauti may take the princes hunting while Laufey remains on the throne.

Loki stays on Asgard for three weeks. Odin shifts Loki's skin so the warmth won't irritate him and Loki spends a day staring at his pale hands. He is Thor's size. The boys are old enough to manage walking and talking at the same time. Old enough that they'll remember these days. Old enough to be a comfort to each other.

Loki calls Frigga “Mama” after hearing Thor do the same, and she nearly weeps with joy.

Loki is nervous, in a strange realm without his parents. He clings tightly to Thor by day and at night both of the boys are bundled into bed with Frigga, gathering handfuls of her nightdress with their restless little fingers.

Thor is pleased with his mother. She has Loki held to her left side, which is, in Thor's opinion, her best side, because her left breast is slightly larger than her right. Thor wants Loki to have that extra bit of softness to pillow his head. The finest rest Asgard can offer.

When Loki returns to Jotunheim, he pats Farbauti's firm flat chest and frowns. Farbauti snorts with amusement.

Occasionally Odin will say, “When you take the throne...” and Thor will scowl. He has seen Hlidskjalf – hard and high and cold. And Thor thinks to himself, Keep it. And I will keep Mama's breast and have the better half of the bargain.

Centuries later, when Thor is grown, he tells his parents of his childhood opinion of the throne. Their eyes go wide and they throw their heads back laughing and flashing bright teeth.

When they're children, Thor and Loki are kept apart, learning the ways of their respective realms. Odin, Laufey and Farbauti want to spare them the confusion and strain of fraternal feelings. Frigga objects but is outnumbered.

The princes write letters for Huginn and Muninn to ferry back and forth.

In their free time, the boys often have their eyes trained on the sky, awaiting the sight of the black feathers that bear bright tidings.

Frigga and Farbauti assist with the writing until the boys have learned how. Farbauti's letters are huge, and Huginn and Muninn must heft them together.

  
  


2 Minds

 

Dear Loki,

How are you? I hope you are well.

Today I met my father's horse. His name is Sleipnir and he has eight legs. I drew him for you. I asked Papa if you and I may ride him and he said yes, but we must wait until we are taller.

Love,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I am well. How are you? I hope you are happy and growing taller.

Thank you for the drawing. I would like to ride Sleipnir. I hope I grow tall enough. I am very small.

My Papa gave me a pup. I named him Fenrir. He is still growing, but he is already big enough for me to ride. He is meant to watch over me. Does Sleipnir watch over you?

Loki

Dear Loki,

I am well, too.

Thank you for the drawing of Fenrir. I like his teeth.

Sleipnir doesn't watch me. The ravens who carry our letters watch me sometimes. Mama watches me. She is writing this letter for me. Heimdall watches me. He watches everyone.

I have two goats, but they don't watch me. They have eyes like a cat's, only sideways, and they like to knock me down.

Love,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I am learning my letters. I will be able to write to you by myself soon.

Loki

Dear Loki,

Mama is teaching me to write, too. The R is still hard for me, but I am practicing.

Love,

Thor

Their enthusiasm for their correspondence only increases as they enter adolescence and begin to more fully become themselves.

Dear Thor,

Your Father is going to teach me seidr. I am nervous but excited. I have some already, but I was born with it. I am hopeful that the two magics will enhance each other and that the witchcraft of your realm will open to me.

My best to you,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I asked Father about you. He says you are clever and swift. When I pressed him further I got him to confess that you are handsome and charming, too.

I hope your lessons were pleasant. My father tried to give me lessons in seidr but he said I wasn't ready. Too reckless. And impatient. And young. He said there is much of it in me, but that it is almost a living thing and has much growing to do, and only when it is grown and has shown itself will he be able to help me harness it.

I want to see this stranger that lives under my skin. It is an odd feeling.

With luck,

Thor

Dear Thor,

The lessons go well. Your father is a firm teacher, but fair, and his knowledge is vast.

I pressed him about you, too. He told me you are reckless and proud. Fret not, for I am often guilty of the same charges.

He also said that you are brave and kind. And that you are as great a beauty as your mother is, and that the effect is made all the more striking by your being a boy.

My earliest recollection is of her face, and it is a fond one. You must be fair indeed.

Give Frigga my best,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I hope this letter finds you well.

How do you pass your days? I'm sure they are filled with endless instructions and prescribed actions and all the business of court. But, when that is finished and your devices are your own, what then do you do?

Yours,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I am a capricious creature. Sometimes I can't stop reading. Other times I can't bear to be still and I walk the realm with Fenrir until even his long legs are tired and he whines and badgers me into turning around to head back home. Sometimes I invent my own seidr. More often of late I can't be bothered to do anything at all and merely lie in the snow to stare at the sky while my wolf keeps watch.

The sight of the stars is a comfort – cold, bright, beautiful, and indifferent. But there's menace there, too, when I choose to look for it - fire and violence. And something like a taunt, for whole armies of the white orbs lie between your realm and mine. They seem as insurmountable as time. For there is no day on Jotunheim: our sun is dimmer than your moons. The night stretches on forever and time seems to stand as still as stone.

How pass your days, my prince?

Fondly,

Loki

Dear Loki,

Our sun mocks me much as your stars do. Each dawn brings a day that bears too great a resemblance to the one that came before.

I swim and go riding when the weather allows. Or I stare at the blooms in my mother's flower beds until I hear her laughter and look up to find the dusk has settled around me and I've lost all the light.

We have had much rain. I like it, but few people wish to leave their homes when it falls.

My parents look at me strangely. My father with some sort of recognition or understanding and my mother with something like amusement.

I often see your face in my dreams now, though I know not how, for you are not as you were when we met as boys. I see you as the man you will be: tall and slim and firm. Some nights you are the sharp black and blue of my own eyes. Others you are all milk and roses. Your eyes are red or green and most often laughing, but three nights ago they were weeping and I have not slept since.

Are you well?

Fondly,

Thor

Dear Thor,

Perhaps your dreams caught wind of my childish tears. Crying over spilt milk. Senseless, but soothing, and less destructive that my initial intention of bringing down an avalanche.

Childhood has ended. It feels like punishment for my complaint about time's seeming to drag its heels. I'll bleed for a week every nine months until I am old, and I will not be old for ages. The ache is alarming. Like pressing your thumb into a bruise and holding it there for days. The healers gave me a potion for it, but they can do nothing to stop the blood.

You are lucky the sexes are split among your people and the coin fell in your favor.

Enviously yours,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I am sorry to hear of your discomfort.

My friend Sif is suffering the same fate. The first time it happened she was taken with such pain and sickness we both feared she had been poisoned. The blood proved otherwise and was a relief of sorts in that sense. Now she drinks an elixir and we spar vigorously, for the exertion soothes the aches and the exercise hastens her blood.

It seems Asgard's foul weather has been my fault. Father is teaching me to master what is wild in me, but it feels better to let it run itself ragged and rain down on the realm. The rain, wind, and thunder are bound to me by unseen strings. I cannot tell whether I am holding their reins or they are holding mine. Most often it feels like the latter.

But the grass has never been greener and all the gardens are a wonder. The rivers are fast, and the wells are full.

Still, I feel guilty for waking all the babes and spooking horses with my clumsy noise.

Wishing you well,

Thor

Dear Thor,

Perhaps you are Asgard's equivalent of a Frost Giant. We are all able to summon the ice.

My bleeding and aching have ceased and the sorrow that attended them has withdrawn.

And yet I feel strange. Only half full. My childhood is lost to me but I cannot yet dream of calling myself a man. And even when I am grown I will look but a lad to the eyes of my people.

I asked my fathers when they would take me on my first hunt, for my younger brothers have already been on theirs. But my parents exchanged worried glances and gave no answer.

I fear they think me weak.

Diminutively,

Loki

Dear Loki,

Small is not the same as weak, as I was recently reminded. It seems it is my turn to bleed.

I found a snake in my mother's gardens. A beautiful racer with smokey blue skin and black around its eyes, as though it had daubed them with kohl. I snatched it up before it could flee and it bit me hard enough to break the skin. But I was stubborn and held it until it calmed and then it seemed to take to the warmth of my hand and twined around my wrist, remaining there for an hour while I sat by its favorite flower bed.

My spirit is restless. My mother still gives me strange looks. Never unkind, but worried.

My dreams sway between impossible bliss and bottomless sorrow, and in each case you are there. In the former I have you, and in the latter I lose you.

Very much yours,

Thor

Dear Thor,

My dreams are troubling, too.

I wound you in them as often as not and rise from my bed sick with fear, for the visions are as vivid as waking life.

But in some of these reveries we are so happy it moves me to tears, though we appear to be but peasants and as weak as babes. And I pray for it, though it is a strange fate.

My brothers worry about me. They say I've taken to shouting for them in my sleep.

At supper they suggested to our parents that we should invite you here for an extended stay, that you might learn the ways of our realm firsthand. I beamed at them.

But our parents shook their heads and said it was too soon.

I can make no sense of it.

It seems I am only to see you in my sleep.

If my dreams have shown me truth, you are as fair of face as Freyja herself.

Yours in Jotunheim,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I am sorry it has taken me so long to write. When I received your last letter I set out to visit you, that I might make my answer to you directly, but I found my father already at the Bifrost, waiting for me. I could not read him. I don't know why he stopped me. He didn't seem angry.

The next morning he took me to the vault and told me to choose a weapon. But it was no choice. I could hear one of them calling me. When I followed the voice I found it belonged to an odd-looking hammer. The handle is not as long as one would like for a head of its size.

He said her name is Mjolnir. She is a strange thing. She comes when I call and flies where I will. She aids me greatly in harnessing the sky.

My storms have grown stronger. I take them far out over the sea or high into the mountains to spare the realm worry.

Yet I have never felt weaker. Wings without a bird. Fractured and feeble.

And it feels like a diversion.

My mother is angry but she says it is not with me.

Your dreams are the mirror of my own. No mere reveries. They must be memories. We have wounded each other deeply.

But I do not fear you; don't fear yourself.

And still yours,

Thor

Dear Thor,

My brothers are angry, too.

I heard shouting and followed the sound.

It was about me.

They feel our parents are too cautious with me. That they have treated me differently. The wolf at my back is proof enough – they have always feared for my safety. My brothers have had no such guardians growing up.

But I am different. There is no denying it. And it is not merely that I am small. It's ineffable, but no less obvious.

My dam knows.

He roared at Byleistr, saying, “I cannot lose him.”

Byleistr roared back, “You're killing him.”

I stumbled in, stunned, and asked them to cease their shouting lest they bring down the hall.

They gaped at me and shook themselves.

Mistake me not: they have never mistreated me. Indeed, they are so kind I hardly feel worthy of such affections. And at the same time I feel coddled and caged. There is something they are keeping from me - or from which they are keeping me.

Yours,

Loki

Dear Loki,

Do not judge them too harshly for their worry. Love engenders fear of loss. I worry for you too, after the scenes that have visited my dreams.

Be safe,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I have done far worse than wound you. I have seen it.

Flee me as a rabbit would a wolf.

Wed the goddess of war and keep the realms safe by her side.

Forget me.

Please.

I'm so sorry.

Dear Loki,

No.

I have seen to the end of that road. It leads only to ruin.

Yours ever,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I could not bear to bring an end to you.

Dear Loki,

Then trust me. And trust yourself.

All my love,

Thor

Dear Loki,

Are you there? Are you well? Will you not write?

Tell me you yet draw breath.

Please,

Thor

Dear Loki,

Please. Say your heart beats.

I love you,

Thor

Dear Loki,

Have mercy on me. Write.

Love,

Thor

Cousins Byleistr and Helblindi,

Could I beg you to tell me whether Loki is well or no?

Does he truly wish me to let him be?

Will he never write to me again?

Have I said something foolish and wounded his heart with my misstep?

Please pardon my intrusion.

Sincerely,

Thor Odinson

Cousin Thor,

We received your letter. Our older brother forbade our speaking with you about him.

Luckily, he's far too fond of us to punish our disobedience.

It is true that he has said he wants you to ignore and forget him. But the words themselves were a lie and he is heartsick with them.

He is quite stubborn, but we suspect you are of the same inclination: outlast him.

Keep writing to him. His wrongheaded will shall break, and this foolishness pass like a fever.

For our parts, we'll wear away at his mind and patience; the rest of him is your realm.

Your brothers at arms,

Helblindi and Byleistr

Dear Loki,

Will you leave me like this for all my days? Am I never to see your face? Am I to live alone? Die alone? Would you ask me to damn you to this same solitude? This ceaseless ache? This folly?

It sits so ill with my soul.

I miss you so,

Thor

Loki,

Are we not rendering our worst fears real with this silence?

Is this not loss?

My tears tell me it is. My throat is tight with trying to strangle my weeping.

Sleep has forsaken me, and dreaming with it. They took my visions of you when they went.

All I have left are your letters.

Idunn's apples are as ashes in my mouth.

And yet I love you more,

Thor

Dear Thor,

My dreams have changed. They are my own now at last.

They are all of you. I can't bear to tear myself from sleep.

Love,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I was so happy to have your letter from Huginn this morning.

The words are written in my memory and still I read them.

But tell me, are you well?

Much love,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I am well.

And yet, in some sense, I have never been worse. Each night brings visions of such sweetness that, were I not asleep, I think I would swoon. Upon waking I feel so bereft I can hardly bear it.

And you?

Say that you are well.

Say you can forgive my doubt and neglect.

Say your wounds will heal.

Wholly yours,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I am well, you are forgiven, and the wounds left no scars.

Sleep has returned with your words and dreams followed on their heels.

I saw you dressed in moonlight and a smile.

Love to you,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I let the flakes of snow skate over my face as they fall and tell myself they are the rain you make, frozen when it reaches my realm, kissing my cheeks.

I want to cheat time, step forward with you to scatter our bones together. Step back to see each other as babes. I almost feel as though we're able. Or that we already have.

Happily yours,

Loki

Dear Loki,

I followed a fat furry bee through the gardens. A lusty little imp, tirelessly wrestling with petticoats of petals while all the blooms bobbed slowly in the breeze, heaving like a maiden's bosom. I think we would all be right to envy him. Stealing Valhalla out from under our noses, sating all the blossoms. Heroic little stinger.

Spring seems to linger with me all the year - rain drumming through my veins and something green ever at the tip of my tongue.

Sometimes I think I would devour you. And you would survive to pay me back in kind. And then we'd do it again.

Yours always,

Thor

Dear Thor,

Sometimes I shift half my skin, that I might know what it's like to touch yours. To feel the warmth of you.

I walk the palace in a strange daze. I feel light. Dizzy. I smile to myself. I think I must look mad, tottering through the halls and grinning at the air.

My breath hurries when I think of you, as though it could rush us together.

Are you all that you appear to be when I see you in my dreams?

Is your neck long?

I would measure it with kisses.

Have your shoulders grown broad?

I would wrap my arms about them.

Is your waist narrow?

I would belt it with my legs.

I would know the weight of you as it pressed down into me.

The taste of you as I licked it from your skin.

The scent of you as I buried my face in your hair.

The feel of you beneath my fingertips and all down my front.

The sound of your voice beside my ear - deep and rough and unexpected from a mouth so round and soft.

Thor, I'm yours,

Loki

Dear Loki,

Your words are a comfort.

I had worried you would think me base. That you would believe it was only the pleasure of your skin I sought.

I tried to convince myself I should be content with your words alone. And they are much – I do not mean to suggest otherwise.

And yet I would hear them from your lips.

See your thoughts play out across your face.

Somehow I can't believe baseness is even possible in connection with your body - with you.

We could exist solely as spirits if we were meant for thought alone. But hearts beat in our breasts and I would have yours held to mine. Would share tears and sweat and seed. Would press my lips to every part of you and weigh your pleasure with your sighs.

Oceans of love,

Thor

Dear Thor,

I had shared your concern. Feared you would think it was only the joys of your flesh I was after.

I, too, tried to tell myself that words should be enough. That I was being greedy and ungrateful by wanting more.

And I came to your conclusions: we have these bodies that we may act. That we may meet the realms on their own terms - meet each other.

It should seem silly, the persistent wish to rut like animals. And it does seem a bit ridiculous put plainly like this upon parchment. And yet the thought is no less sweet for it. The desire is entirely undiminished.

I cannot tell what I think it would accomplish – the nearness of my body to yours. I suspect our flesh must have some conversation in mind. Perhaps there are no words in written tongues for the things my skin would say to yours.

Still, I am haunted by the dreams that came before.

By who I've been.

By what I've done.

My soul bears the scars of battles this body has never seen.

What cause have we to believe I'll not do you harm?

Who are we?

What are we?

What am I to you?

All that I am,

Loki

Dear Loki,

My heart has a name for you: brother.

Byleistr and Helblindi are pleased that their brother has come to his senses and resumed his correspondence with Thor. Loki's smiles don't escape their eyes. But the murmurs and cries he makes in his sleep don't escape their ears either. They get Loki drunk and take him to his room, setting him in bed and coaxing words from him while he's at the edge of consciousness.

“What troubles you?” Helblindi whispers. “Why do you call for us in your sleep?”

“I do not call for you.”

“You do.”

“I call for him,” Loki clarifies unhelpfully.

“Whom?”

“My brother?”

“Yes, but which one?” Helblindi urges softly.

“Thor,” Loki says, whining slightly, as though the answer should be obvious.

“He is not your sibling.”

“Don't be absurd,” Loki says. “Of course he is. He is my spirit's twin. He has always been my brother.”

Having teased this secret from Loki's lips, Helblindi and Byleistr can guess why their parents are worried – why they want to keep the lines between the princes clear and simple. But that battle was lost before it began, so they've been starving Loki's heart instead. They meant well, but it went badly.

Helblindi and Byleistr know that these years are the closest they will come to having Loki all to themselves. But the realms are at peace and they can visit when they like.

Time to open the cages.

They write to Frigga.

Dear Loki,

This morning it was my mother's turn to shout.

As a child it was my father's rage I feared; as a man it is my mother's.

I heard her from my room, which should have been impossible, for she was in Valaskjalf with Father, so I take it she meant for me to hear her.

She spoke of fate and fertility gods. Nature and need. She said our fathers should have heeded her. That they've had their way long enough.

Nervously yours,

Thor

  
  
  


3 Bodies

 

The day after he hears his mother shouting, Thor finds her in his room when he returns from breakfast.

She has trunks packed for him.

“Will you escort me to Alfheim?” Frigga asks, smiling.

“Of course,” Thor answers, surprised at her question.

“Thank you,” she says, and looks him over in a way that makes him squirm.

She feigns a frown and fusses with his hair. Fixes his clothes and wraps him up in a soft cloak the color of the sea just before sunrise. The color of thunderheads.

“We're leaving now?” Thor asks.

“Aye.”

Thor raises his eyebrows but grabs his baggage and follows his mother. He wonders if there was more to his parents' quarrel that he didn't hear - if Frigga is visiting Alfheim on some business of court, or if she merely wishes to be worlds away from her husband.

She packed heavily. Enough for a week at least.

But she doesn't seem angry, so he takes that as a good sign.

She adds her trunks to the heap on his shoulders and they leave the palace. He loads a carriage and offers his arm to his mother, helping her into her seat before they set out for the Bifrost.

She is grinning now. Trying not to. She takes his hand and squeezes it. He returns the pressure and the smile. He has always found her joy contagious. And now it's a relief as well. She has seemed tense for months. Maybe years.

Freyr greets them at the Bifrost site on Alfheim and helps Thor pile their belongings onto a cart. He bids them welcome and says he hopes their stay is a pleasant one. He makes no mention of official business and is dressed far too casually for it. He would have greeted them at the throne if this were some diplomatic errand. Thor tries not to let it worry him. His mother is still beaming, and Freyr is trying to tamp down a smile, which yields something like a smirk. That's encouraging, if a little odd.

They walk to a distant wing of the palace. The building is all of wood and weaves in and out of trees, leaving the plants a generous berth. The windows are large and plentiful. The sun is high and the sky is clear, but it's cool inside from the shade of the forest and the breeze filtering in through the curtains.

A page takes their things to their rooms and Freyr leads them to a small chamber for refreshments and pleasant talk.

When his guests seem rested, Freyr suggests they stretch their legs on a tour of the palace and they rise.

He points out paintings and tapestries. Explains images and architecture when Thor has questions.

The main hall is a wonder for many reasons, and the best of them has nothing to do with the skill of its making.

At the far end stand four figures. Three tall and one tiny. Thor can hear the low buzzing of their voices, broken sometimes by bright laughter.

When the two groups notice each other they go silent.

Thor looks to his mother.

She winks.

Farbauti's face is taut, but Byleistr and Helblindi are grinning.

Odin looks on from Hlidskjalf.

Laufey watches by way of a small mirrored pendant hanging from Farbauti's throat.

Thor and Loki all but run across the room, footsteps echoing through the hall.

They crash together in the center and throw their arms around each other.

“Brother,” they gasp in unison.

Odin and Laufey groan from their thrones, but Frigga's tears are of joy and Loki's siblings both sag with relief.

Farbauti raises an eyebrow, but he has never seen his son happier, so he says nothing.

Loki and Thor are stood still and staring. Their right hands are clasping the backs of each other's necks while their left hands have drifted down over each other's hearts.

“I've missed you,” Thor says.

“And I you.”

Thor tugs Loki close again and buries his face in the glossy back curls behind Loki's right ear. There's a freckle a few inches below the earlobe, halfway down a lovely neck, exactly where Thor is expecting it to be.

Loki's hands are soothing Thor, rubbing his shoulder blades and pressing him close. Loki can feel the tremor that courses through the body in his arms.

The way Thor smells is so familiar Loki can think of little else. The world is made of warmth and breath and trembling and brother.

They finally rouse from their strange stupor when they realize their families are in a circle surrounding them. Loki sees a pretty face before his own.

He gives Thor a squeeze and they separate.

“My queen,” Loki says, dropping to one knee and bowing.

Frigga shakes her head and bends to lead him back up to his feet, taking his face in her hands.

“Your mother,” she corrects softly, and Loki doesn't know why he's weeping, but he's grateful to be doing it into Frigga's hair.

Thor is thanking Loki's brothers and they are stooping to catch him up in their arms, passing him back and forth between them as though he were a child.

Byleistr passes Thor to Farbauti, and Thor isn't expecting it, but the giant embraces him.

“I feel as if I've stolen him from you,” Thor confesses at a whisper.

“You have it backward, lad,” Farbauti tells him, and Thor huffs a laugh that's half sob. “I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner.”

When Thor's feet are back on the ground Loki offers his arm and Thor takes it.

Loki had shifted Aesir upon their arrival on Alfheim to suit the warmth of this realm. The rest of his family calls a thin layer of frost to their skin.

Freyr takes them out through the grounds and gardens.

Byleistr sets Frigga on his right shoulder while Helblindi puts Freyr on his left. Gods are not burned by the touch of Frost Giants. Loki's brothers walk on either side of Farbauti so that they are all able to converse easily.

Loki wants to kiss his siblings for finding a way to distract their parents.

Thor is grinning and trying not to laugh.

Loki releases Thor's arm and drops his hand to link their fingers.

They brush their thumbs together as they walk, trying to look like they're paying attention to their host and chaperones, all wide innocent eyes and solemn nodding whenever anyone looks over their shoulder at them.

But the princes are young men now, and they need no supervision. Their parents are merely teasing and tormenting them while they still can.

Thor and Loki know it.

They decide to make a game of it.

The next time Byleistr turns his head to look back at his brother, he sees two sets of feet sticking out from behind a hedge, legs tangled together in a way that implies the bodies that belong to them are lying down.

When Helblindi turns for a peek ten minutes later, Thor is riding on Loki's back, legs held by Loki's elbows, arms draped around his neck.

Byleistr's next glimpse of his brother shows him slung over Thor's left shoulder. He's effectively waving his behind at the backs of their heads.

Helblindi's second sight of Loki finds him riding Thor's shoulders. The wrong way. Thor is facing the rest of the party; Loki is not. Thor is holding Loki's bottom up with his hands. Helblindi is secretly impressed with how effortlessly Thor is moving despite the awkward position and the added weight.

They all dine together on a balcony with a lovely view of a pond. The food is marvelous - both foreign and familiar - and soon they are all engaged in a conversation of comparisons, explaining the quirks of their realms.

The time passes quickly and pleasantly.

Afterward, they sip wine as they walk together toward their rooms, footsteps and voices echoing through the high wooden halls.

Thor asks his mother how long they're staying.

“A week or so,” she says.

He grins.

Freyr shows Farbauti into the second room at the beginning of a long hall, and they realize the first belongs to their host. Frigga gets the third. Byleistr the fourth. Helblindi the fifth. And then there is only the sixth.

“If you need anything, there's a bell pull by the door,” Freyr tells them.

“Thank you,” the princes say in unison, bowing low and trying to keep their mirth from making their faces look too manic.

When the door shuts behind them they lean back against it and start giggling.

They've made it.

The relief leaves them giddy.

They shake the worry from their forms with little waves of laughter and then settle with simultaneous sighs.

Thor links their fingers and they stroll through the room, seeing their trunks set up on little benches.

Fenrir is in the corner, lying on a block of ice Helblindi made for him and wagging his tail. He makes no effort to investigate Thor; his scent is familiar from all the letters, and both Thor and Loki reek of happiness, so the wolf isn't worried.

Behind a carved screen there's half of a huge wooden barrel and a table beside it lined with porcelain pitchers of water for a bath.

The whole room is rather rustic and simple and somehow a relief. Not fragile or hard or ostentatious. Essential.

Nearly everything is of wood, linen, or leather.

Thor can smell the cottonwood that fills the mattress, the goose down in the quilts, and the wool that tufts the rugs.

He can smell Loki. His clothes. His hair. His skin.

He can hear the wood shifting slightly beneath the weight of their footsteps. Hear their clothing rustling. Hear their breath gusting in and out of them.

They stop to open the doors to their little balcony and let in the cool night air. The voices of frogs and owls come in with the breeze and the sounds seem to set the gauzy curtains billowing and the torches guttering.

The bed is inviting, tucked into an alcove with a window behind it – two outer walls are the benefit of having the last room. There are drapes that can be drawn across the little cubby to close it off from the rest of the chamber. They can seal themselves into a tiny realm of sleep and sex and softness.

They both wonder where to start.

These bodies have never been here before.

This has only existed in dreams and distant memories.

Something is about to shift in the balance of their lives.

Thor smiles and bends to take off his boots. Loki follows his lead. Loki is out of his small leather breechcloth and the heavy plates of gold that are held by seidr to his throat while Thor is still unlacing his leggings. They leave their clothes draped over a chair and walk to the tub.

“Here,” Thor says, tossing his head. “I'll pour for you and then we can switch.”

Loki climbs into the bath and Thor takes up a pitcher of water, pouring it over Loki's body as Loki lathers his skin.

These forms are familiar. It soothes them both to see them again.

Thor watches Loki's slender arms and elegant hands. Marvels at miles of leg as Loki's weight shifts from one hip to the other.

They trade places and the breeze is a comfort on Loki's damp skin. Even in an Aesir form, the warmth of Alfheim is strange after so long on Jotunheim.

Loki tips the water onto Thor's head, reaching to move Thor's hair and make sure he's rinsing it all. Thor leans into the touch and hums, and Loki feels welcome.

Loki's eyes linger on Thor's arms. On his broad chest and narrow waist. His long neck.

Loki snuffs out torches while Thor dries himself off.

“Mind if I take the side by the window?” Loki asks.

“Not at all,” Thor answers, drawing the curtains closed behind them as they climb into bed.

Loki unlatches the shutters and throws them open.

Their bodies are bathed in cool air and the light of twin moons.

Thor is bending to fold the blankets down to the foot of the bed. Loki watches the muscles in Thor's back as they flex and imagines that's the view the ceiling will have when they're making love.

Thor settles back down onto his left side and Loki lies to face him. They give in to the urge they've felt all day to caress each other's necks.

The length of their throats makes them look like they could be related. Thor's is thick where Loki's is slender, but somehow it's no less graceful, and Loki's doesn't look weak.

Their fingers follow the muscles that run behind the ear and down to the hollow of the throat. It gives them the excuse stray through the hair at the nape and to trace the graceful curves of the collarbones. Two sets of eyes are stealing glances at handsome faces. They see each other's lips part as their breaths quicken. Their fingertips have wandered. Loki's are traversing Thor's breast, feeling the ribs at the edge of the sternum, the smooth planes of the pectorals, and the pebbled nubs of nipples. Thor is drawing Loki's face with the pad of his right ring finger. Feeling how close the bones are to the surface, noting the shifts in the texture of skin – smooth and firm over the brow and down the bridge of the nose, but thin and soft beneath the eyes and over the temples. And then Thor's finger is brushing Loki's lips and Loki's hand is paused over Thor's heart.

Thor looks up from the place his finger is tracing and neither of them blinks as they lean forward those last few inches and kiss.

Just a simple press of one willing mouth to another, but it feels like they've moved a mountain and they let out breaths they hadn't realized they were holding.

And after that it's all so easy.

They nuzzle and nudge their bodies closer. Wrap each other up in warm arms. Lick past sharp teeth to twine soft tongues. Kiss cheeks and brows and chins. Stretch their jaws wide and suck on each other's throats, pulling up bruises and purpling the fragile skin.

Loki moans softly and wraps his left thigh around Thor's right, pulling it toward him as he tips onto his back and dragging Thor's body onto his own with his arms.

Thor's hair spills around their faces and Loki thinks of the willows that line the pond in Freyr's garden. Moonlight sifts through the strands and turns Thor's gold hair silver.

They both look pale and perfect. Marble statues that have finally left their pedestals and succumbed to a lust that has simmered for centuries. Longer.

They can feel their cocks bobbing against each other as they resume their kisses, breathless now.

Loki has been leaking since they began. His body feels foreign. It has never been so responsive under his own ministrations. The sticky dew within him trickled out over the front and back of his right leg while they were lying on their sides kissing. He's wearing a garter of his own slick. He thinks of wedding nights.

Thor has stopped kissing him and is panting by his ear.

“Are you fertile today? I don't think I'm quite ready to be a father,” Thor murmurs.

“No,” Loki laughs. “My blood's just finished. I can't conceive for nearly eight months.”

Thor hums and Loki wraps his legs around him. He can feel the warmth of Thor's thin hips against the insides of his thighs, bracketed by the brisk night air. He can feel his own body twitching in anticipation. He's bracing himself slightly - worried this will hurt. Thor's proportions are rather generous.

Thor rests on his right elbow and reaches down between their bodies, taking himself in hand and swirling the head of his cock over the lips of Loki's cunt.

Loki makes a happy grunt and Thor smiles softly and kisses him, humming against Loki's lips and making their mouths tingle with the touch. Loki's legs fall wider and he relaxes as the kisses continue.

He can feel the curved head of Thor's cock as it glides against the entry of his cunny.

Thor can feel the wet flesh stretching around him as he slowly works his way inside. Feel the walls of muscle stretch and yield as Loki's legs circle his waist.

And then their hips are stacked and their breasts are flush. Loki's cock is pressed between the sweat-slick skin of their stomachs.

They're both grinning like madmen. Their kisses are clumsy from all their smiling. Loki's fingers are mapping Thor's back to grant him a taste of what the ceiling sees.

They let their bodies rest and wallow in this impossible nearness. They wonder at how such a simple act – a tiny shift of hips - engenders such a solid sense of union. They're torn between a wish to writhe like serpents and a longing to remain still. They don't want this to end. But then they remember they can always do it again.

Loki arches his pelvis up and clenches the muscles in his cunt and Thor groans and mouths at Loki's jaw as he sets his own hips moving. They can feel every inch of each other. Loki's body is so sensitive he could draw a perfect map of every ridge and vein on Thor's cock without ever setting eyes on it.

The slide of tender flesh soon has them shaking. They hold onto each other tightly. Loki's lovely voice is bouncing from the rafters and it occurs to Thor that the whole hall can probably hear them. The thought makes him hide a smile in Loki's hair.

Loki holds his breath and stiffens around Thor. Thor keeps thrusting into him until he hears a sharp cry and Loki shudders around him. Their bellies are wet.

They rest for a while.

Thor likes the little flutters he can feel in the muscles that surround him. They way they involuntarily clench around his cock and make Loki's breath stutter.

Loki likes that Thor is still hard. Likes being pinned to the mattress by his bulk. Sheltered by his back. Stuck to him with sweat and semen.

If Loki just waits a few minutes, the tension in his body will return and Thor will be able to wring another orgasm from him.

Loki rouses himself and turns his head to nibble Thor's lips.

They go again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And after that Thor is trembling. Loki can feel his cock twitching within him. He waits no longer than he must before he's nodding at Thor and Thor is gliding into him in quick deep thrusts, breaths shortening with every pass.

Loki is chanting encouraging babble into Thor's shoulder – Yes and Oh and Darling, with a chorus of Thor's name.

Thor cries Loki when he spends.

Loki comes tumbling after. He felt the little jets of seed – the patter of them deep in his cunny - and he doesn't know how he's able to distinguish Thor's wetness from his own, but he's very pleased that he can – something hot and viscous, trickling along inside him.

Loki wakes first and finds Thor still on top of him. He lets himself stare at the pretty sights that surround him. Listens to Thor's breathing.

It's well after sunrise.

Under any other circumstances, Loki would surprised by the ease with which he fell asleep: in a strange bed, on a distant realm, with another body splayed on top of his.

But it's Thor's body, and that seems to render all the other oddities irrelevant.

Thor wakes with a sigh and rolls his head to look at Loki. Loki smiles, already watching him. Their mouths are swollen with sleep and last night's activities and they look too inviting to refuse.

They trade soft kisses and admire each other in the cool light of morning. It tints them with blues and lavenders.

“Am I crushing you?” Thor says.

“No,” Loki smiles, shaking his head.

“Do you still fear you'll do me harm?”

“No,” Loki laughs, realizing it's true. “Though I fear we'll both faint if we don't drink some water soon.”

Thor hums and carefully lifts himself. Their bellies peel apart where they're glued together with semen. Thor's cock went soft in the night and slipped from Loki's body. Now it's soldered to Loki's inner thigh with dry seed.

When they've separated, they ring for a page to ask for more bathwater. They head to a sideboard while they wait and pour cool water from a ewer into crystal goblets. They are more thirsty than they had realized and empty glass after glass, gulping loudly together and finishing with satisfied gasps. They scramble into robes when they hear the page's footsteps in the hall. He returns quickly and wheels in a cart laden with more pitchers of water and a light breakfast.

After he departs, Thor and Loki make quick work of the meal. They take it to mean they have no need to leave their room and dine with their families.

They bathe each other again. They take longer this time, letting themselves enjoy the sights in the bright light of day. Loki's skin is a lovely canvas for the colors of morning. Thor's skin looks like late afternoon.

They stand naked on their balcony and let the breeze blow them dry before making their way back to bed.

They stretch out across the mattress and stare out the window, chins propped up by their hands. Thor's eyes are following birds when he feels a cool finger gliding down the knobs of his spine. He smiles and turns up onto his side. Loki is looking at him closely. Eyes taking in and cataloging textures, freckles, scars, and hair.

Thor lets him explore.

Loki spends a long time between Thor's legs.

No quim.

Farbauti had already told him about this, so it isn't exactly a surprise, but it's still new. Loki knows the Aesir are plentiful and their realm is relatively small. He supposes that it's easy enough there to happen upon someone of the opposite sex and make a baby. Jotunheim is vast and cold. When two Jotnar finally find and love each other, it wouldn't do to have each of them being only male or female. Their odds of raising a family would be few.

Thor's cock is lovely. Long and thick and silken. All of his skin shines in the sunlight. The scent of him is rich and strange. He smells like the earth and plants of this realm. Loki smells like the ice and granite of Jotunheim.

When Loki has finished his inventory, he lies down beside Thor and Thor begins his own.

Loki's abdomen captivates him. The delicate planes. The pale curves. So lean where Thor is bulky, but this belly bore his weight all night without effort.

And Loki's legs are a wonder. Longer than Thor's, though Thor is taller. And so shapely. Thor kisses the lovely swells of the calves and the knobby knees and ankles. Runs his hands over the soft curves of the thighs. Follows them to the slim hips, the bones just peeking through the skin.

Loki's cock is long and slender, like the rest of him, but at its base where Thor's balls would be, there are folds of skin and a seam between two very plump lips. Thor can feel the testicles shifting beneath his mouth when he presses kisses to the twin mounds of flesh.

Loki sets his legs farther apart to let Thor lie between them. Thor watches and waits, teasing Loki's body into a different shape with slow kisses and drags of his tongue. Loki's cock fills and swells, the head peeking out of the foreskin and shining like a cherry. Thor sucks it into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it while Loki moans and arches.

Thor is a bit awestruck by this act. Loki's body is inside his own. All of his senses are engaged and enamored.

Thor keeps his head tipped and his eyes trained on the lips of Loki's cunt. He can see wetness slowly seeping through the folds, shiny lines glinting out from what should be dark recesses. The longer Thor sucks, the wetter Loki gets. Loki's legs are clamping around Thor, so Thor keeps up his rhythm, running his lips all the way from the base to the tip until Loki bucks and fills his mouth with seed. They both moan and Thor drinks it all up greedily, tasting the ocean. Then he drops to tend the furls of flesh below. He spreads them gently with his fingers to let him see the skin within - bright pink and twitching. Thor thinks of roses. He runs the tip of his tongue over every curve and Loki's moans come in panted bursts.

The scent of him has Thor enthralled. He's never known skin to smell like this - like snow falling on stones at the edge of the sea. He dips his tongue inside and Loki shouts and arches, driving Thor in deeper.

Thor keeps lapping and piercing Loki's quim with licks and soon Loki is twitching and wailing through an orgasm. Thor is drinking in the slow liquid that is pulsing from Loki's body with each spasm of his cunny.

When Loki's breath has evened out, Thor does it again, this time adding a finger.

Loki looks on, enraptured. Thor looks so happy down there with his head between Loki's legs - smiling and humming with his blond hair in a delightful jumble.

Loki can hear Thor smacking his lips, sucking up the wetness dripping from his quim and swallowing it without a second's hesitation. And Thor's tongue feels like wet silk against his skin. Like it was cut from the same cloth as Loki's cunny and these parts were meant to meet.

Loki sits up when he's sated and he worries for a second; Thor's cock is limp at his hips and Loki briefly thinks Thor wasn't enjoying himself. Then he sees the dark shiny spots on the sheets where Thor's seed fell.

“Did you touch yourself?” Loki asks, pleased by the image that blooms in his head.

“No,” Thor says. “I tried to hold on, but then you grabbed my hair and pulled my face in tight to your cunt and I couldn't stop.”

Loki hums and flops back down into the pillows.

Thor leans in and presses a long kiss to Loki's anus. Loki purrs.

They pass all the day like this. They leave their rooms after supper to see their host and families and apologize for their absence, but they're greeted with amused snorts and raised eyebrows.

Frigga laughs and waves them off.

“Don't be silly dears,” she chuckles. “Go back to bed.”

They bow and follow her orders.

In their room, Thor digs through his trunk and pulls out a small jar. He's grinning. Loki cocks his head.

“It's a gift from my mother,” Thor says, laughing softly.

They climb into bed and Thor opens the present. Loki can smell woody spices and a subtle sweetness.

“Shall I get spoons?” Loki asks.

“It's not for eating.”

Thor scoops some of the jelly up with his fingertips, sets the pot up between their pillows, and rolls onto his back.

And now Loki understands what the gift is.

He kisses Thor until they're both breathing hard and looking hungry and then he shifts to hover over Thor's offered body. Thor reaches between Loki's legs to carefully slick his cock, then reaches between his own to slick his prick and his opening.

Thor's head rolls on his neck as Loki inches his length into him.

Thor bears down to ease Loki's way, but he can still feel his body bending into a new shape.

Loki's shape, Thor thinks, smiling. I'm molded to him.

Loki is gaping slightly and staring at Thor – he sees Thor's eyes go wide when he is fully sheathed within him.

Thor feels stretched and open and bare. His cock is burning between their bellies, aching for touch.

“Brother,” Thor gasps, and Loki nods and leans down to kiss Thor's parted lips.

He tugs them gently with his own and licks around them in soft circles as he slowly lifts his hips and slides his cock halfway out of Thor's ass. The pressure on his prick is so good it's almost unbearable. Tight and greedy. And the oil is so slippery. Sinful. Where, by rights, they should be smelling shit, instead their noses are greeted with the scent of cloves and honey.

Loki makes a mental note to thank Frigga. A goddess indeed.

He glides back into Thor's ass and isn't sure how long he'll last. It feels like Thor is milking him. Perhaps he is. Pale life in liquid form will spill out of Loki's body and into Thor's, feeding his hungry little hole. And afterward it will trickle out the tender flesh of Thor's entrance and onto the sweet curves of his behind, reminding Thor just how close they were. How blurry the lines between them are and always have been.

Their bodies are joined at their lips and at their sex and they're both moaning brother - their shared name – into the hot wet hollows of each other's mouths. They see their own faces reflected in each other's eyes. Hear the rush of breath, the rustle of blankets, and the slap of soaked skin.

Thor is already going rigid and begging don't stop as Loki's hips bounce above him. The muscles inside of Thor grip Loki's body so tightly it's almost a shock, and then Thor is shuddering and Loki can feel hot streams of semen pulsing against his belly, thick and sticky and perfect.

And now Loki is soaked from navel to knees; his quim has been leaking since Thor first rolled onto his back to offer himself up. Loki has never been so wet before. Flushed and swollen. The tension in his body is exquisite.

“Brother,” Thor sobs again, and Loki spends, pressing into Thor until his bones block him.

They lie there, panting and sweating, feeling each other's hearts thrumming against their ribs.

They bathe and gulp cool water before crawling back into bed.

Loki lies on his side facing the window, feeling the cool air pouring down onto his cheeks. Thor slots in behind him and mouths his neck.

“I want to sleep with your cock in my quim,” Loki murmurs, and Thor hums.

That's something he's dreamed of. He knows he'll probably go soft as he slumbers and slip out, but to drift into dreams from the safety of Loki's body is as happy a fate as the realms allow.

Thor pushes his erection down and Loki presses his hips back. They both sigh as the top of Thor's thick cock slides against the wet folds of Loki's cunt and then thrusts smoothly up into it. Loki flexes the little walls of muscle within him, giving Thor an invisible embrace and a warm welcome. Thor chuckles and nips Loki's ear before wrapping his arm around Loki's waist, cradling Loki's cock in his hand, and falling asleep.

The next day they go swimming while their families look on from the balcony and sip cool drinks with Freyr.

Helblindi and Byleistr are pleased with how Thor treats Loki. With how happy Loki is. With how unabashed he is, splashing naked with Thor through the pond, wrestling and laughing.

They've never seen their brother seem so at ease with his body before. And, even at this distance, their eyes can't miss the marks Thor left on Loki's skin. They wonder if Thor's ministrations made Loki believe himself beautiful at last. They suspect that Loki is silently bragging – setting his lovebites on display for all to see, with the pretty blond being who put them there grinning by his side.

Farbauti imagines even Surtur would be glad to bear the bruises of the little thunder god's lips.

Frigga is glad to see Thor so lighthearted. He had paced the realm like a beast in a cage.

Brought down storms of disturbing severity.

Descended into spells of sorrow that were made all the more strange by how foreign they were to her son's disposition.

Sif had come to her, worried on her best friend's behalf, wondering if something could be done. If she could escort Thor to Jotunheim herself.

Since they've been on Alfheim, there has been rain, but Thor has been calm enough to keep it soft and quiet and confined to the middle of the night. A sign that he is untroubled.

When the week is almost over, Frigga comes to their room and finds them in a pile of limbs.

Thor doesn't bother to cover himself, so Loki follows his example. Loki likes how frank and earthy Thor and Frigga are. His lessons with Odin left him expecting more formality and reserve. He's pleased to have been mistaken.

Frigga sits at the edge of the bed and reaches to fix their hair and Loki revels in these gentle touches from soft and delicate fingers. There are no beings like Frigga on Jotunheim. It feels like a kind of poverty to Loki now.

“Helblindi and Byleistr have invited you both on a hunt, though they did not feel brave enough to seek you here and tell you themselves. I can't imagine why,” she teases, shaking her head at them.

“Do you wish me to come?” Thor asks, turning to Loki.

“Of course,” Loki says, peering at Thor like he's daft.

“May I?” Thor asks, looking to his mother once more.

“You may.”

“Thank you,” Thor says, beaming at her.

She smiles and swats his behind.

“We'll return to Asgard tomorrow evening and you'll go to Jotunheim six days later.”

She leaves them to their sleepy heap and rejoins the other guests.

Helblindi asks her if his brother's state was as bad as he expected it to be and Frigga laughs.

“Worse.”

Thor and Loki are filled with a mix of delight and dread. The thought of a week apart breaks their hearts. But then they'll be snuggled together in an ice shelter and armed with an excellent excuse to keep each other warm. And they'll have a delicious means of achieving it.

“I've never been on a hunt before,” Loki says.

“This will be my first as well,” Thor admits.

“Do you suppose we'll actually do any hunting?” Loki asks.

“No,” Thor answers instantly.

Loki hums happily.

Halfway through the night, Helblindi is banging on the wall and begging them to stop.

They've been wailing each other's names all night long in a marathon of farewell lovemaking.

But Loki knows his brother isn't half as brave as Frigga, so he has no cause to fear that Helblindi will come bursting through the door to throttle them.

Loki keeps singing Thor's name.

And making explicit requests at the top of his lungs.

And moaning his praises.

And Thor is just as bad.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I can't disable commenting, but if I could, I would. Please pretend that I have, and please don't repost or distribute my work.


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